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O, men from the fields!
Come softly within.
Tread softly, softly,
O! men, coming in.

Mavourneen is going
From me and from you,
To Mary, the Mother,
Whose mantle is blue!

From reek of the smoke
And cold of the floor,
And peering of things
Across the half-door.

O men from the fields!
Soft, softly come thro'.
Mary puts round him
Her mantle of blue.
Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow—
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
I...
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To the Rose upon the Rood of Time
Fergus and the Druid
Cuchulain's Fight with the Sea
The Rose of the World
The Rose of Peace
The Rose of Battle
A Faery Song
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
A Cradle Song
The Pity of Love
The Sorrow of Love
When You Are Old
The White Birds
A Dream of Death
The Countess Cathleen in Paradise
Who Goes with Fergus?
The Man who Dreamed of Faeryland
The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected from the Irish Novelists
The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
...
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THREE blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run!
They all run after the farmer's wife,
And she cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life
As three blind mice!
Large 16mo. Full-page Pictures, elegantly
printed in Oil Colors.
My Mother.
Baby.
Jack the Giant-Killer.
Nursery Rhymes.
Punch and Judy.
Our Domestic Pets.
Little Red Riding Hood.
Old Mother Hubbard.
* * *

When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And whisperings are in the dale,
The [desires del.] days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green & pale.

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise;
Your spring & your day are wasted in play,
And your winter & night in disguise.
Now what has kept your leaves so green,
  Arbre Fée de Bourlemont?
The children's tears! They brought each grief,
  And you did comfort them and cheer
  Their bruisèd hearts, and steal a tear
    That, healèd, rose a leaf.

And what has built you up so strong,
  Arbre Fée de Bourlemont?
The children's love! They've loved you long
  Ten hundred years, in sooth,
They've nourished you with praise and song,
And warmed your heart and kept it young—
  A thousand years of youth!

...
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And beneath was piled up mound of stones
  Whence a rude grey cross arose
'And lo' said the ancient servitor
  'It is here thy father is laid.'
Ballad of Sir Walter Manny p.230
"There is a voice within me,
 And 'tis so sweet a voice,
That its soft lispings win me,
 Till tears start in my eyes.

Deep from my soul it springeth,
 Like hidden melody;
And evermore it singeth
 This song of songs to me.

This world is full of beauty,
 As other worlds above;
And if we did our duty,
 It might be full of love."
When from your gems of thought I turn
To those pure orbs, your heart to learn,
I scarce know which to prize most high —
The bright i-dea, or the bright dear-eye.
What nights retard thee, O Sirius !
Thy light is as a spear,
And thou penetratest them
As a warrior that stabbeth his foe
Even to the center of his life.
Thy rays reach farther than the gulfs;
They form a bridge thereover
That shall endure till the links of the universe
Are unfastened, and drop apart,
And all the gulfs are one,
Dissevered by suns no longer.

How strong art thou in thy place !
Thou stridest thine orbit,
And the darkness shakes beneath thee,
As a road that is trodden by an army....
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Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear!
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain grey,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our...
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When all the world is young, lad,
      And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
      And every girl a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
      And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
      And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
      And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
      And all the wheels run down;
Creep home and take your place there,
      The spent and ma...
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Folk songs
Will you just send me
a card to say if you
have any of these, &
if so which? In
great haste E. Nesbit
                    P.T.O.

Songs of the Maid Skrine
The Rosetree of Hildesheim Weston
Songs without answer Putnam
Songs of love & death Armour
A Trip to Fairyland Morgan
Arrows of Song
The Pilgrim Jewitt
Flamma Vestalis Mason
Scintilloe Carminis Almy
I Inscribe this Book of Adventure

to my son,

ARTHUR JOHN RIDER HAGGARD,

in the hope that in days to come

he, and many other boys whom I shall never know, may, in

the acts and thoughts of

ALLAN QUATERMAIN AND HIS COMPANIONS.

as herein recorded, find something

to help him and them to reach to what, with Sir Henry

Curtis, I hold to be the highest rank whereto

we can attain—the state and

dignity of

ENGLISH GENTLEMEN.
We are but phantoms on the screen of life,
     The reel itself is very far away;
And farther, in the cosmic Hollywood,
     The actors play.

The phantoms on the screen are moving fast,
     So fast that they can neither think nor see;
But they are wondering whether like the past
     Or worse or better will the future be.

I know, at least, whatever be the gains
     Or losses as we speed away,
That still for thee and me remains
     A thought of yesterday.
* * *

 There was an Old Sailor of Compton,
 Whose vessel a rock it once bump'd on;
 The shock was so great,
 that it damaged the pate,
 Of that singular Sailor of Compton.

 <Publ. 1846>
His Excellency Baron von SAURMA-JELTSCH
Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the German Empire.
His Excellency J. A. W. GRIP
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of Sweden and Norway.
Hon. J. R. HAWLEY
U. S. Senator.
Hon. GARDINER G. HUBBARD
President National Geographic Society.
Prof. OTIS T. MASON
President Anthropological Society.
Major J. W. POWELL
Director U. S. Geological Survey.
Mr. HENRY GANNETT
Chief Topographer U. S. Geological Survey.
Mr. W. J. McGEE
...
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Sons of the South, awake! arise!
Sons of the South, and do.
Banish from under your bonny skies
Those old-world errors and wrongs and lies.
Making a hell in a Paradise
That belongs to your sons and you.

Sons of the South, make choice between
(Sons of the South, choose true),
The Land of Morn and the Land of E'en,
The Old Dead Tree and the Young Tree Green,
The Land that belongs to the lord and the Queen,
And the Land that belongs to you.

Sons of the South, your time will come –
Sons of the So...
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Folk songs
Young palmer sun, that to these shining sands
      Pourest thy pilgrim’s tale, discoursing still
Thy silver passages of sacred lands,
      With news of Sepulchre and Dolorous Hill,

Canst thou be he that, yester-sunset warm,
      Purple with Paynim rage and wrack desire,
Dashed ravening out of a dusty lair of Storm,
      Harried the west, and set the world on fire?

Hast thou perchance repented, Saracen Sun?
      Wilt warm the world with peace and dove-desire...
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